


are you down?

by vsyubs (orphan_account)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, House Party, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, gratuitous bowling because jungkook is in it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-02 20:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/vsyubs
Summary: Meeting someone while drunk and lonely is probably not a great way to make a first impression, but Kim Mingyu manages to do just that. And then some.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled When Will Jasmine Stop Writing Uni AUs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped in someone’s house all alone isn’t Mingyu’s definition of “no fuss, no drama”.

It’s raining when Mingyu finally stumbles out of the bedroom. It’s also completely quiet, save for the speakers still churning out some mellow-sounding song. He must’ve fallen asleep. Blinking in the semi-darkness, Mingyu slowly surveys the scene. All across the polished wooden floor are sad red solo cups, some toilet paper, and puddles of liquid. There’s a stain on the wall that may or may not be puke; Mingyu can’t really tell. There’s nobody else here but him. The party must be over.

 _Jungkook_ , is first thing that his fuzzy brain thinks as he hobbles down the wooden stairs. He doesn’t remember much of anything. How did he end up in the bedroom all alone? Mingyu seizes up at the bottom of the staircase. Shit, did he unknowingly hook up with someone? He gives himself a pat down and a once-over. He doesn’t feel or see any strange substances or liquids, which is mildly reassuring. His dick’s safely tucked into his pants, too, and all items of clothing are still on his body the way it was at the beginning of the night, if only a little sweatier and grosser. And his ass doesn’t hurt. He sags against the banister in relief. And in subsequent pain that starts in his head. Oh, fuck. 

The plan was supposed to be set in stone, and the night was supposed to be somewhat predictable. A guys’ night out at a party somewhere in the city – no fuss, no drama. 

Trapped in someone’s house all alone isn’t Mingyu’s definition of “no fuss, no drama”. 

He hadn’t _come_ here alone, is the thing. He had come here with people, and quite a number of them, too, but now, they’re nowhere to be seen, and he’s still here, and there’s several things wrong with that. 

Around eight hours ago, it was Friday night, and Mingyu was on his way over to the university dorms from his flat to meet up with his classmate Jungkook. He had never really gotten close to or interacted much with Jungkook beyond uni-related things, but, a few weeks ago, during a ten-minute classroom break, Jungkook had asked him if he’d like to tag along with him and a friend to a party, and, being the eager, outgoing Aries he is, he said hell yeah. The weather was Cold Wind and nippy in the worst way, and Mingyu was not dressed for maximum warmth, but luckily his teeth had stopped chattering by the time he arrived at Jungkook’s door. 

“I think you’re gonna get along with him,” Jungkook said, eyes bright with excitement as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. “Yugyeom, I mean.”

Mingyu smiled, mirroring his eagerness. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

Jungkook knocked on door 303, and they stood in front of it, waiting. 

And kept waiting. 

At least four minutes passed since Jungkook had knocked for the fourth time. Mingyu started to get antsy. 

“Maybe the door’s unlocked?” he suggested, and Jungkook looked at him in alarm. He reached out and turned the doorknob.

It clicked open. Before Mingyu or Jungkook could try an entertain a few distressing thoughts, a distinctly herby smell wafted lazily from the inside.

Oh, okay.

Mingyu couldn’t care less that Yugyeom got high. But doing that probably broke all kinds and forms of uni regulations, and he had a _friend_ doing it with him, too, a friend that neither Mingyu nor Jungkook were expecting, equally as high and as intent on going to the party. Mingyu shot Jungkook a Look. Jungkook shrugged. So, there’s a small baggage to their plan. But, well, Mingyu thought, the more the merrier, right? He shrugged back, then burst out laughing when Bambam pointed at him, gasped, and called him daddy. 

So, by eleven thirty p.m., three grew to four. Two were high. But it was still fine. They almost got caught by the officer in the train headed into the city but luckily Bambam had mastered The Art of Acting Over the Influence While Under It and Yugyeom had pretended to be asleep. Also, Bambam remembered to douse himself and Yugyeom in cologne before they headed out. (“Best way of getting rid of unwanted smells,” Bambam slurred, brandishing a can of Axe at Mingyu, “is with another unwanted smell.”) It was all good fun, adrenaline already running high, and they couldn’t stop giggling and shoving each other all the way to the tram stop. 

Ah, the tram stop. 

Mingyu’s back hits the wall of the apocalyptic post-party crash site that is the living room and he slides down it, tucking his head between his knees. His head kinda hurts, throbbing lightly in the temples, and feels like someone filled it up with water and dirty cotton balls. The clarity of the situation dawns on him just then. He is all alone and drunk and stuck in someone’s house because his only friend in the entire place had ditched him. He fishes out a solo cup crushed under his left buttcheek. 

The tram stop was another slight diversion to the night that Mingyu had expected. They were supposed to hail a cab from the station that’d take them straight to Almond Street where the party house was, but _apparently_ Jungkook had some _more_ friends he wanted to meet up with at the tram stop near Nando’s. 

“You have other friends?” Mingyu teased. Jungkook stuck his tongue out at him.

So Mingyu tagged along, remembering the fact that, hours ago, Jungkook had told him that it would just be him and a friend. They got there at the stroke of midnight, and Mingyu was met with six guys. 

Mingyu remembers Hoseok, first and foremost, who was loud and lanky like a noodle that’s been injected with adrenaline, and then he remembers Yoongi, who was platinum blond and had a serious case of RBF that was actually kind of hot and made Mingyu all flustered. Then he remembers the guy with the unbelievably handsome face, Taehyung, he thinks, and then there was Jimin, who was quieter but kinda sassy, and whose lips looked like they could win some awards. Then there was Jin, who was also unrealistically handsome and had a squeaky laugh that did not match his suave appearance at all, and, finally, Namjoon, the guy with the dimples, deep, scratchy voice, and long limbs that matched up to Mingyu’s own but just barely. They were a warm, hilarious bunch, and the twenty-minute tram ride was a blur of fun and noise, and Mingyu pushed down his qualms about partying with semi-strangers and let his excitement snowball. 

But then, like all great movies, everything kind of started falling apart.

It was really a string of things triggered by a more significant string of things, and something Mingyu would prefer not to think about. A few milestones were hit – milestones which Mingyu might look back on with a fond sort of embarrassment in his early thirties maybe, but which were just plain painful at this point in his life. He downed eight shots, finished a whole thing of cocktail, and took a few hits from Hoseok’s blunt. And the latter was the only one Yugyeom and Bambam had to nudge him into doing. As much as Mingyu tried to pin the blame on the donkey, it was really all him.

If he was more sober, he would’ve joined Jungkook joining up with his friends. He would’ve tried his best to babysit Yugyeom and Bambam and maybe help them get their shit together. He would’ve disappeared into the bathroom and come out just fine. He _wouldn’t_ have come out confused and lost and stumbled around, knocking into couches and walls and accidentally elbowing foreheads and boobs, getting increasingly fucked up. But, well… that was how the cookie crumbled. He couldn’t enjoy dancing. He didn’t even make out with anyone. All he did was feel tired and woozy. 

Perhaps the biggest mistake Mingyu made was having any expectations about the night at all. 

Miserably, he mouths along to the chorus of Mr Brightside as it blares from the speakers. He tries to think about trying to get himself back home, but nothing is coming up except for _YOU’VE BEEN DITCHED!_ in big, neon, flashing capital letters. 

Suddenly, a thought – a brilliant, ground-shattering idea – crosses his mind, making him sit up as straight as a drunk person can sit up. Maybe Jungkook’s got a hold of him sometime a while ago, while he was knocked out! He could call him back, sob to him about what happened and how miserable he is, maybe give him a piece of his mind, and then ask him to save him! Mingyu yanks his phone out from his back pocket and unlocks it. 

It’s dead.

Crushed, he tosses it away and it skitters across the floor. Then he thinks about how grimy the floor probably is and picks it up again.

“‘M sorry,” Mingyu mumbles, bringing the smooth silicone to his face. “I didn’t mean to do that.” His cheek feels suspiciously wet when he takes it away, and he grimaces. He balances his phone on his lap and lets out a broken sigh. 

Just then, there is a click, and, suddenly, the world goes very bright. He lets out a confused, pained yell, scrunching his eyes shut and bringing his arms to cover his face. 

“Oh shit – sorry!”

Mingyu groans. He feels like a newborn horse that’s just climbed out of the womb, writhing around and trying to regain his sight. 

“Hey, you okay there?” 

Mustering enough strength to peep through his fingers, Mingyu sees a pair of combat boots trudging towards him. “Jungkook,” he slurs, furrowing his brows as he props himself up on his elbows. “Jungkook, I didn’t know you liked wearing boots.” 

“Uh… I’m not Jungkook.” 

Not-Jungkook crouches just then, coming face to face with Mingyu. 

Mingyu tilts his head.

Not-Jungkook is small, thin, and long, with pointy ears, a sharp chin, and sharp eyes, and a nose that’s rounder than the rest of him. There’s a worried frown etched across his forehead, and when he looks out towards the front door, Mingyu gets a view of his profile.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “You’re an angel.”

Not-Jungkook snaps his gaze towards Mingyu, eyes widening slightly. He clears his throat, schooling his expression into a stern – but not unkind – look, and tugs his cap a little further down his head. “Party’s over.”

Not-Jungkook sounds light. Like a flower petal, or something. “But you’re so cute,” Mingyu whispers. 

Not-Jungkook stares slightly open-mouthed, pausing for a good second.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Mingyu says, reaching out to hold Not-Jungkook’s hand.

Not-Jungkook swiftly dodges him, laughing unsurely. “Are you a student?”

“Yup.” It’s nice to know that he’s not completely alone. Mingyu thinks he could cry. 

“Which school do you go to?”

Mingyu takes a deep breath and starts belting out the words to the second verse of Abbott University’s anthem.

“Okay, okay _,_ I got it,” Not-Jungkook interrupts no more than four seconds in, wincing over the sound of Mingyu’s voice cracking at a particularly high note. “That’s… that’s enough.”

Mingyu hiccups, looking down at the hand that’s landed on his knee. Not-Jungkook notices this and retracts his hand as quick as lightning. It’s warm where he touched Mingyu, and that makes him sloppy-smile. “I was just getting to the good part,” he says. “You’re missin’ out.” 

“Maybe next time,” Not-Jungkook says. “Is Jungkook your friend?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu answers sadly, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I don’t know where he is. I think he hates me but I really hope he doesn’t. Do _you_ know where he is?”

“No, sorry,” Not-Jungkook says regretfully, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call an Uber for you, okay? Do you live on campus?”

“Mmmmh.” Mingyu lolls his head to the side and squeezes his eyes shut when a sudden onrush of pain travels through his forehead. His knee falls and knocks heavily into the floor, but he doesn’t seem at all perturbed.

Not-Jungkook looks on, puffing out a sigh, and cranes his neck to look out the door again. That’s when Mingyu notices his earring, silver and dangly and pretty. There’s a number eight at the top closest to his ear, and the dangly bit hangs off of the end of it. It glints and shakes and Mingyu reaches out to touch it. But as he does, Not-Jungkook turns back to face him again, and Mingyu ends up resting his middle and index fingers against his lower lip. Mingyu gasps. Not-Jungkook’s eyes become saucers.

“Oh,” Mingyu whispers. It’s _soft_. A little chapped maybe, but soft. And a pretty, dusty pink. And Mingyu’s gaze takes quite a while to flick up to meet Not-Jungkook’s. Not-Jungkook’s face hardens a little, gaze flitting back and forth between Mingyu’s face and his fingers. He looks like a surprised, mildly pissed-off pixie. And Mingyu is whatever the opposite of scared is. “Oops.”

Not-Jungkook jerks his head backwards. “Listen, um…” he says, avoiding eye contact. “Guy.”

“Guy?” Mingyu bubbles out laughter. “That’s not my name. You can’t change my name for me.”

“Well, what is it?”

Mingyu smiles as handsomely as he can. “Mingyu.” 

Not-Jungkook doesn’t seem affected, which is surprising, because everyone gets affected by his smile. He simply says, “Okay, Mingyu, could you tell me your address, please? I don’t want to leave you alone here.” 

“You’re leaving?” Mingyu says, eyes widening. “Don’t –” He seems to snap out of his stupor somewhat, enough to realise the gravity of the situation, and his smile falls as he sits up straighter. “– don’t leave. I, my address. Jus – just gimme a sec.” Mingyu scrunches his forehead in thought, brain scrambling to catch up. “It’s, ah…”

“Do you remember it?” Not-Jungkook’s voice drips with concern.

“‘Course I do, don’t even worry your pretty lil’ face,” Mingyu says. “It’s been a long night, is all. It’s… somethin’ Surrey Street.” Mingyu thinks about it, then nods in confirmation.

“Surrey Street?” Not-Jungkook pulls up Maps on his phone and types in the address. His face falls at the results. “There’s… there’s like ten million Surrey Streets.”

“Oh. Huh.” Mingyu clumsily crawls forward on his knees, almost knocking heads with Not-Jungkook. Not-Jungkook turns the phone towards him so he can see better, and he wraps his hand around Not-Jungkook’s. “Oh, you’re warm.”

“Focus, Mingyu.”

“Right.” Mingyu squints at the screen. “Focus, Mingyu.” 

With marked effort, Mingyu scrolls through the addresses in search of his home while Not-Jungkook worries on the inside of his mouth. He lets out a cry when he finally finds it, falling back on his ass.

“You got it?” Not-Jungkook says.

“Yup!”

Not-Jungkook pauses, then eyes him suspiciously. “You sure?” 

“One-hundred and twenty-two percent.” 

Not-Jungkook narrows his eyes. “Are you _sure_?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, trailing off into a yawn and curling up on the floor. “’M tired,” he bubbles. “Need a pillow.” 

Not-Jungkook purses his lips, looking down at his phone. It seems to be a lifetime that he’s silent, enough time for Mingyu to admire his cute nose and the way his pouty lower lip disappears between his teeth sometimes. 

“What’s _your_ name?” Mingyu asks. 

“Um…” Not-Jungkook looks a bit distracted, now staring intently at the wall behind Mingyu’s head like there’s something on his mind. Even from this angle Not-Jungkook looks angelic. Mingyu watches as he drags a hand down his face, sharply exhaling through his nose and closing his eyes, then cranes his neck up to the ceiling and murmurs something Mingyu doesn’t quite catch.

Finally, he levels Mingyu with a steady gaze. “I’m taking you home with me.”

Mingyu stares and goes a little slack-jawed. “Oh.”

“Don’t get weird,” Not-Jungkook says. 

Mouth still ajar, Mingyu nods obediently. 

“I live nearby,” Not-Jungkook explains. “I don’t think you’ll be okay climbing into an Uber on your own with how you are right now.”

“Oh…” Mingyu trails off. He wants to say thank you, but his brain is stuttering uselessly. Not-Jungkook waits for him. There’s a determined, slightly exasperated look on his face, but his eyes scream with concern, and he looks like a million soft things, and Mingyu feels warm all over. “I love you,” he says.

Not-Jungkook gives him a concerned smile before rising to his feet.

Mingyu follows suit. Kind of. He doesn’t succeed very well with his concrete-Jell-O limbs and right foot going numb and head swimming with the force of gravity, but there’s warmth on his side, and then there’s Not-Jungkook’s palm splayed across his back, steadying him, and the floor stops being so unstable.

“Mm.” Mingyu squirms under his touch. “Tickles.”

“Easy does it,” Not-Jungkook says, all soft and quiet.

Mingyu hiccups, blindly clutching onto Not-Jungkook’s bony hip, and the pair totter around misplaced furniture and more scattered solo cups. Mingyu starts to wonkily hum a song he remembers jamming out to a few hours ago. He thinks it’s Missy Elliott. 

But then he stops. “Shit,” he whispers.

Not-Jungkook glances at him. “You okay?” 

“Um. No.” Suddenly, Mingyu feels the crushing weight of guilt and embarrassment collect in his guts. “Angel Guy… I am so, _so_ sorry, oh _no_.”

Not-Jungkook steers him away from stepping in a puddle of puke. “Don’t worry about it.” Mingyu’s drunk, fragile heart breaks a little. 

“No, no, I’m really, _really_ sorry,” he babbles. “I – you’re my lifesaver, really, truly and honestly my lifesaver, I…” He swallows down a lump in his throat. Not-Jungkook’s a little shorter than him, like everyone tends to be, and feels just as lanky as he looks. Mingyu is about fifty shades of emotional. “Oh _no_.”

“You’re fine.” Not-Jungkook gives Mingyu a few reassuring pats on the back. “Just… you know. Don’t puke on me?”

“I… oh… thas gross.” 

“No weird love confessions either,” he adds.

Mingyu hiccups again. “Yessir.” 

Eventually, Mingyu starts humming again, and they make it out of the house with no damage or fuss. It’s still raining, the sound white and brown and chilling to the bones. Mingyu’s humming fades away once more when his teeth start to clack against one another just seconds later.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Not-Jungkook mumbles, stealing a glance at Mingyu as they shuffle along the pavement. “You okay?” 

“Y-y-y –” Mingyu stutters intelligently.

Not-Jungkook clicks his tongue and starts rubbing his palms along Mingyu’s back, pressing closer. It’s warmer, but just barely, the cold splashes of water and sharp air sucking away the meager heat Not-Jungkook’s providing. “We’re only three minutes away, think you can make it?”

“M-mhm.” Mingyu breathes out shakily and Not-Jungkook tightens his hold.

“Won’t be long, I promise.”

“I think I –”

Not-Jungkook perks up. “Hm? What’s up?”

Mingyu’s expression darkens when he feels his stomach lurch dangerously. “I –” He brings a hand up to his mouth. “I gotta –” He gets cut off by a retch, and Not-Jungkook instinctively lets go and springs away. 

“Mingyu –”

That’s the last thing Mingyu hears before he doubles over and lets it all out, right on the sidewalk, blood rushing to his ears. Underneath a streetlamp, at fuck-knows-what a.m, Mingyu pukes and pukes. And next to that streetlamp, his new companion watches on. Yet another milestone for Kim Mingyu. Semester two hasn’t even started.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you even know who he is?” Jungkook raises a hand when Mingyu opens his mouth to answer. “Besides his name and face.”
> 
> Mingyu’s face shifts into an easy grin. “Not _yet_.”

If Mingyu had a Hate List, he’s sure that “waking up” is somewhere at the top of it. As it happens, the only thing that could top that is “waking up with a hangover”.

As if waking up isn’t torturous enough as it is, adding a nasty hangover that demands immediate attention from his weakened, useless body just makes being alive that much more unappealing. Rolling onto his back, he blinks his crumbly eyelids open, picking at the most crusty parts with his fingernail. He starts to whine in pain when he accidentally picks a little too hard, but it gets stuck in his parched throat, and he ends up letting out a broken groan. He curls up onto his side again and pulls the blanket up and over his head. He doesn’t even want to attempt to sit up right now.

His bladder has other plans for him, though.

He guesses it’s like ripping band-aids off. You gotta do it quickly and get it over with so you don’t suffer too much. So Mingyu gives in to his bladder’s needs and sits up, slowly, bringing himself up on his elbows first before ungluing his back from the bed. It’s shit. He regrets it. His stomach immediately complains and his head screams at him. He doesn’t know which one to clutch first, and eventually settles for blearily gazing around instead. The room he’s in is completely unfamiliar, walls white instead of beige, empty instead of filled with posters. It momentarily distracts him from the growing nausea. Right, he remembers – someone brought his sad drunk ass to their home. Someone was nice enough to do that. Someone _actually_ stayed by his side.

He feels something horrid bubbling up his chest and bolts into the bathroom. 

A few minutes and a short visit to the toilet bowl later, Mingyu comes out feeling a little less pukey. But his head is hurting _more_ and his throat is still very dry. He sweeps his gaze over the unfamiliar room again and spots a glass of water and a silver thing of pills sitting on the dresser. 

Well, that was easy. 

Mingyu quickly pops the painkillers, downing the glass of water completely as he does, before noticing a pile of clothes right next to the pills, presumably for him to wear. He lifts an orange sweater up to reveal a pair of baby blue boxers. He blinks, then drops the sweater back down over it. Boxer-sharing is perhaps one of the most intimate actions known to mankind. It’s like a symbol of trust between friends and lovers. It’s basically the equivalent of saying hey, I love and cherish our relationship, and nothing can make me change my mind about loving you. Mingyu bites his lip. On one hand, whoever took him home is a total stranger, but on the other, more pressing hand, Mingyu _really_ doesn’t feel like heading back home in his gross clubbing clothes.

Beggars can’t be choosers. He slips into the clothes. The boxers and sweatpants are a little tight around the waist, but the sweater fits nicely and smells like lemons. He feels more ready to take on the world, or at least the Uber ride back home. He decides to take his leave, feeling his stay has been drawn out for too long.

Padding out of the bedroom with his nasty clothes bunched up in one fist, Mingyu immediately feels kind of intimidated. This apartment room is the neatest one he’s ever seen – it’s kind of ridiculous. Small figurines of shiba inu dogs adorn the black television stand in one straight, uniform line, magazines are stacked neatly underneath the coffee table, and two cushions are set side by side, upright, in the center of the couch. Mingyu thinks about Ol’ Jacko back in his own rented house and imagines the cushions probably nestled somewhere between the seats and/or underneath the couch itself. Or on the floor. That’s more likely. Unless Wonwoo’s there to save it. His housemate doesn’t care about a lot of things, but books, puns, and pillows are a few exceptions. Mingyu starts walking around, surveying the area. No other decorations are to be seen save for a small potted cacti on the edge of the coffee table. The shoe rack is orderly, too, much to Mingyu’s bewilderment. Who even organises their shoe rack? The shoes are actually _in_ it, all lined up in place and shit. Mingyu bets this guy arranges them by colour sometimes.

Anyway. Leaving. He should do that. First, though, he wants to get some more water. As quietly as possible, just in case his host is still asleep somewhere, he goes into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it up. He downs the water quickly and goes for seconds, gargling and spitting into the sink a few times for good measure. As he gulps down his third full glass, a lone piece of lined paper on the fridge stuck down with a Mickey Mouse magnet catches his attention. Unable to find it in himself to give a fuck about the rules of privacy in this moment in time, he leans in to read the handwriting.

_Hey, I’m the guy that took you home last night. (Don’t freak out, I didn’t do anything but tuck you in.)_

Mingyu blinks. He frees the paper from the magnet and continues reading.

_If you’re reading this, that means you’re alive. That’s good. I’m not here right now. I’ve gone to get some groceries. There’s fried rice in the fridge that you can heat up and eat if you want. (USE THE MICROWAVE, NOT THE OVEN) Let yourself out whenever. :)_

_-Minghao_

Minghao, huh. Mingyu winces in embarrassment as he recalls, in increasingly incriminating snapshots, what he did last night. He knows Drunk Him very well. Drunk Him either gets a) cranky, b) clingy, c) flirty, d) naked, or e) all of the above, and while he knows for sure that he didn’t strip, there was _definitely_ an amount of unpremeditated flirty exchange. Accidental as it was, he still remembers the ghost of this guy – of _Minghao’s_ lips on his fingertip, and feels all sorts of bad.

“God, you’re the worst,” Mingyu mumbles to himself, feeling his cheeks turn warm. He turns around to put the paper back on the fridge but stops himself when he spots a pen lying next to the telephone on top of a stack of the same lined paper. Thinking quickly, he grabs it, then starts writing on the bottom of the paper.

_Hey Minghao. I’m the guy you took home last night._

He nods to himself, pursing his lips. 

_You really saved my hide. Hope I wasn’t too much to handle, but if I was, then I sincerely apologise. I swear I’m way nicer (and cooler!) while sober. Thanks for the rice!_

_Mingyu_

Gross. He might as well have slapped on a lipstick kiss. Oh, well. He feels a little less like a dickhead already. He tacks the paper back on, opens the fridge, and finds the fried rice in a bowl covered with cling film. His stomach growls at the sight and he wastes no time heating it up. A few moments later, he finds a spoon in one of the cupboards and digs right in. He doesn’t even bother to sit down.

It’s the best thing he’s had – ever. Maybe it’s the oil, or the slight prick of spiciness, or the pieces of crispy pork, or the fact that it’s the only meal Mingyu’s had that’s not instant ramen or toast with butter in a long while, but it’s fantastic, and Mingyu inhales the entire bowl in two minutes flat, down to the very last grain of rice. Rubbing his stomach and letting out a hearty burp, he looks towards the paper on the fridge, then picks the pen up again.

_P.S. The fried rice was life-changing. Did you make it?_

He taps the end of the pen on his chin, hesitating a little before carrying on. 

_I feel like I should pay you back for being so nice to me. How’s coffee sound? Or maybe dumplings? HMU!_

He writes out his phone number as neatly as he can. A little courtesy never hurt anyone, right? This is totally the right thing to do. Nodding to himself, he goes to wash the dishes, humming a Missy Elliott song. When he finally leaves, he finds that his headache has almost completely gone.

  


  


It’s odd to Mingyu that he’s in class right now, about eight hours after his trip back home from Minghao’s apartment. He could’ve just stayed in, could’ve slept the vestigial flickers of his hangover off, but he isn’t. He’s in class with puffy eyes and drying lips, hair out of place, and a concentration level that’s fluctuating between goldfish and sea sponge. The mystery thickens.

“Mingyu, hey.”

Mingyu tears his blank gaze away from the trash can in the corner of the lecture hall to a familiar face. He stops twirling his pen and automatically goes for a smile, but the worried expression on Jungkook’s face stops him short. “Hey,” he says slowly. “What’s up?” 

Jungkook slips into the seat next to him and tries to smile as well, but it ends up looking like a grimace. He starts taking out his notebook, slowly and deliberately. “I’m… really sorry,” he begins, eyes flicking up to Mingyu’s, then immediately back down to his backpack. “For… you know. Last night. That was totally not cool of me. Um… I’m… glad you’re okay, and… yeah. I’m. I’m sorry.” 

Mingyu blinks, watching Jungkook’s shoulder rise and fall with a sad sigh. And then he shakes his head, laughing. “I thought you were gonna tell me your dad died or something,” he says, and Jungkook looks at him in surprise. Truth be told, he’s already become at peace with that whole fiasco and his two-second resentment for Jungkook. Mingyu can always forgive a slip-up, especially if the other party genuinely feels bad. And Jungkook _does_ feel bad. Mingyu can tell. “You didn’t think I’d get the message after… what? Thirty-five texts?” Jungkook flushes at that, stammering out another string of apologies, and Mingyu rolls his eyes, nudging him. “Dude, it’s fine. I’m alive.”

“Y – well – _yeah_ , but you could’ve _died._ ” Jungkook looks almost furious.

“Yeah, but I _didn’t_ ,” Mingyu says, chuckling at Jungkook’s expression. “It’s fine.” 

Jungkook gives him a look that’s halfway skeptical and halfway scared. “Really?” 

“Don’t make me convince you.” 

Jungkook puffs out a long breath and slumps in his seat. “I still feel really bad, though.”

“Okay, well,” Mingyu begins twirling his pen between his fingers again, “how ‘bout buying me coffee for the next three days? Would that help ease your regret?”

“I accept,” Jungkook says immediately.

“You –” Mingyu pauses. “Really?” 

Jungkook nods, determined. 

“Wow. Okay. I was only half-serious.” Mingyu leans back in his seat. “I usually get green tea latte.” 

“Noted.”

“What are you doing in class today?” Mingyu asks. “Thought you would’ve skipped.”

“Didn’t feel like missing out on another lecture,” Jungkook says. “I’ve missed two already.” He nods at him. “Why are _you_ here?” 

“No idea,” he admits. 

“Hm. C’est la vie.”

“Don’t have a clue what you just said, but sure.” He stretches, fighting off an oncoming yawn. “How was the night for you?” 

“Um… it was good.” Jungkook scratches the side of his neck. “Just, y’know.” He shrugs. “Good.” 

“Yeah?” The careful way he says it leads Mingyu to think the exact opposite. “You’re a really bad liar.”

“Well, okay,” Jungkook amends. “It wasn’t _just_ goodbut it wasn’t anything b –”

“You got laid, didn’t you.”

Jungkook falls silent, ears going red. He kind of curls up on himself, as if trying to make himself small. He nods.

“ _Nice_.” Mingyu lowers his voice to a whisper and grins, giving Jungkook a congratulatory shove.

“Shut up,” Jungkook mutters, but he’s grinning too.

“How was it?”

Jungkook reddens further. “I dunno? Good?” 

“How do you not know if it was good or not?”

“It was good, it was great,” Jungkook concedes. “I… yeah. It was good.”

“Nice.” Mingyu nods approvingly, and Jungkook beams into his desk. His eyes look faraway and happy. Mingyu somehow gets secondhand post-post-coital bliss.

“She was, uh, really nice about things, too,” Jungkook adds, quietly.

“Are you ever gonna see her again?”

“Um… probably not?” 

“Oh, I see, okay.”

“How ‘bout you, though?” Jungkook clears his throat and looks up at Mingyu. “Apart from –”

“Apart from you ditching me for dead?” Mingyu hums, pretending to think about it. “Not bad, I guess. Mostly ‘cause I didn’t die.”

“Hey, I thought you were cool with it.”

“I am, I am,” Mingyu says. “I just wanna let you have it.”

Jungkook sighs. “Okay, I deserve that.”

“Yeah, you do.” Mingyu smiles and pokes Jungkook in the side. “Nah, all good. This guy took me home, so, yeah, it’s all fine. It was really nice of him. He – uh.” Mingyu started off with gusto, but it all peters off as he feels a blush creep up his neck when he starts to remember the guy. Minghao. He takes a breath in. “Um.”

Jungkook starts to grin. “What? What about him? Kim Mingyu, what did you _do_?” He gasps softly. “What did _he_ do?!” 

“ _Nothing_ ,” Mingyu snaps, raising a hand as if to slap Jungkook. “He just took care of me, that’s all. He was really sweet. I almost puked on him. But he didn’t get mad or annoyed, he just…” Mingyu stares at the corner of his desk, recalling Minghao’s angel-voice, his firm hold, the nice note and clean clothes, the fried rice. “I… I love him.”

Jungkook is silent for three seconds. “You love him.”

Mingyu turns to him with urgent eyes. “ _Irrevocably_.” 

“…Okay.” 

“You’re judging me.”

“Well…” Jungkook rolls his shoulders, turning to face the front of the lecture room just as the professor walks in. “Yeah.”

“Why?” Mingyu pouts. Perhaps Jungkook is rightful in doing so, but Mingyu thinks this is hardly a Romeo and Juliet situation. The professor trails his beady eyes across the room, and Mingyu lowers his voice before turning back to Jungkook. “You don’t get it. He was an _angel_. I’m not saying I would wanna marry him, at least for now, but I love him. Deeply, and with my entire soul.”

“That’s… pretty creepy,” Jungkook mutters.

“He was so _kind_ ,” Mingyu barrels on. “Dude, listen, this is a big deal, okay. He left me a note. He left me clothes to wear. He gave me _painkillers_. That’s, like, _amazing_ , in this apathetic day and age.”

“He did what anyone would’ve done,” Jungkook argues, and Mingyu gasps in offense. He rolls his eyes. “Fine, you love him.”

“Look, you asked how my night was,” Mingyu says in exasperation. “ _He_ was my night.”

“Do you even know who he is?” Jungkook raises a hand when Mingyu opens his mouth to answer. “Besides his name and face.” 

Mingyu’s face shifts into an easy grin. “Not _yet_.” 

“Hmm.”

“What do you want from me? You want a detailed plan of our date? Wedding invites? Just say the word.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “You wanna take him out on a _date_?”

“Well… now that you mention it, why not?” Mingyu doesn’t get why Jungkook’s so shaken up about this. “That’s how you get to know someone you like, right?” 

Jungkook kind of stares at him for a while, a mixture of intrigued and bemused, shaking his head. “I hate that you’re making so much sense.” 

Mingyu smiles, patting Jungkook on the shoulder. “You’ll understand when you find love.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the thing. Minghao isn’t just some stranger – he’s a stranger with strings attached.

The thought occurs to Mingyu during dinner a few days later. He and Wonwoo are spending a relatively tranquil evening marathoning western movies. They were going to do horror but Mingyu doesn’t need that kind of stress in his life, and Wonwoo was too tired to argue cogently. Mingyu pulls his Cheeto-dusted pinky finger out of his mouth with a pop. 

“I still have his sweater,” he announces over the sound of mumbled conversation on TV.

Beside him, Wonwoo spoons cornflakes into his mouth, fixated on the movie. “What?”

“The sweater,” Mingyu says again. He frowns, thinking. “Did I put it in the laundry?”

Wonwoo pauses halfway through his second spoonful, then turns to look at Mingyu. “Did you sleep with someone?”

Mingyu snaps his head towards Wonwoo, alarmed. “ _No_ , no, _wow_ , I don’t wanna – I mean, well – but, _no,_ I… I don’t wanna… fuck him…” 

“Whoa, whoa.” Wonwoo’s eyes widen. “Fuck who?”

Mingyu’s neck is growing warm. “I _don’t_ wanna fuck him!”

“ _Who_?”

“Minghao!” he snaps impatiently. “I’m a traditional guy, I don’t wanna bang him yet!” 

“What?!”

“I still have his sweater,” he repeats, as if that’ll explain everything.

“What…” Wonwoo trails off, shaking his head. “Okay, no, first of all, this is so weird, because I know Minghao, and second of all, why the hell do you have his sweater?”

The rest of Wonwoo’s sentence just kind of disappears as Mingyu focuses all his hearing on the first part. “What do you mean you know Minghao?” 

“I mean he’s in one of my lectures,” Wonwoo says, warily watching Mingyu. “Why do you have his shirt?”

“Holy shit,” Mingyu mumbles. “Holy _shit_ , Wonwoo.” He feels like he just hit the jackpot, got a bingo, and won ten million dollars all at once. “Okay, so, remember the party I went to?” he asks. Wonwoo nods. “Jungkook ditched me, right, so Minghao took me home. He, like, fed me and gave me clothes and shit. Even lent me his boxers.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “They’re baby blue.” 

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, sounding somewhat disappointed and mildly grossed out. 

“And his sweater's still with me! I gotta return it to him, like, soon. I can’t believe you _know_ him.” Mingyu shakes his head in disbelief, tossing a piece of Cheeto into the air and catching it in his mouth. “Do you know where he lives?” he asks, crunching excitedly. “I was there but I can’t remember a thing.”

Wonwoo squints at Mingyu, then puts his bowl of cereal down onto the coffee table and stretches his hand out towards him. “Gimme your phone, stalker.” Mingyu makes a face of disapproval at the nickname but hands his phone over. Wonwoo unlocks it and goes to Maps. Mingyu leans in closer. “He’s on Jersey Lane,” Wonwoo says, typing it in and waiting for the shitty wifi to work its shitty magic. 

“What? He goes to Abbott too, right? Why so far away?” 

“His aunt lives around there,” Wonwoo answers, just as the phone pings with a new text message. “Here, you got something.” Mingyu snatches the phone out of Wonwoo’s grip, tapping it open before he can.

dumplings sound great  
and no the fried rice was from my aunt haha  


Mingyu tilts his head, squinting when the typing bubble appears. 

this is minghao, by the way  


Mingyu’s heart jumps to his throat and does a flip before landing. “Oh,” he breathes. 

“Speak of the devil… or, well, the angel.” Wonwoo scans the messages and spares Mingyu a glance. “Why do you look like you just found out you’re having a baby?”

“Because!” Mingyu tightens his grip on his phone. “What do I do?” he panics. Everything is happening so fast. Is he ready? “Dude, what should I say?” 

Wonwoo picks up his bowl again and spoons cereal into his mouth. “Ask him if he’s dee-tee-eff.”

Mingyu jabs Wonwoo’s side with his toe and is satisfied with the choked yelp that comes out. 

“Someone’s nervous,” Wonwoo mumbles, rubbing his side. 

“Thanks for noticing,” Mingyu says. 

Here is the thing. Minghao isn’t just some stranger – he’s a stranger with strings attached. He brought Mingyu home and took care of him when Jungkook failed to, and to Mingyu it all feels strangely intimate. Apart from being kind of in puppy-love, Mingyu feels like he owes Minghao something. His life, maybe. 

He eventually settles with a simple:

hey! that's perfect! i know this really good dumpling place near my place, we could go there for lunch  


“Okay I did it,” he whispers in one breath, eyes glued to the screen. “I said it.”

“Said what?”

Anticipation festers in his guts as he waits for a reply. He barely winces when Wonwoo smacks him on the thigh. 

“He’s on right now,” he marvels upon seeing the typing bubble pop up. “Like, in real time. Reading my texts, replying and shit…” 

“Technology is just bafflingly powerful, isn’t it.” 

Mingyu shoots Wonwoo a dark look and contemplates eating all the cereal he just bought, but his phone pings again.

yea that sounds nice :) btw you still have my sweater haha  


He smiles to himself. Normally, Mingyu would wither and die at the sight of noseless smileys, but coming from Minghao they look super cute. 

i know haha its in the laundry  
its comfy ;_;  
hahah you can keep it  


Mingyu lets out a squeak.

“What?” Wonwoo steals glances at Mingyu furiously tapping away at his phone with a lopsided, lovesick grin on his face. He kind of wants to puke, but he also kind of wants to know what’s going on. “Mingyu, what?” But Mingyu only gives a happy little sigh, kicking his leg out and nearly hitting Wonwoo in the chest. 

ahahah seriously??? you don't mind???  
no go ahead hahah  
i'll take good care of it!!!  


This is a sure sign that they should just be dating already. Mingyu carefully deletes the heart emoji he stuck on. Slow and steady wins the boy. 

so when did u wanna meet up? im ok with next week  


“Are you getting married now?” Wonwoo’s voice comes again.

“ _Shh_ ,” Mingyu snaps. “I’m concentrating.”

“On what? Spelling?”

Mingyu raises a hand as if to hit him. “On trying to score a date, fool.”

“Ooooh, a _date_ ,” Wonwoo sing-songs. He lets out a victorious laugh when he manages to block Mingyu’s foot from hitting his jugular. “You can’t catch me, for I am Lightning Quick McGee –”

“I _will_ stuff your bowl of cereal up your ass. I _will_.”

“Your empty threat means nothing to me,” Wonwoo declares. “And if you were to actually do it, which you absolutely won’t, I’d probably enjoy the way it –”

“ _Noooo_ ,” Mingyu yells over Wonwoo’s evil laughter. “ _No_ , shut _up_.”

kinda busy next week, maybe week after?  
sounds good!  


Mingyu doesn’t actually know what his agenda will be two weeks from now, but he guesses it wouldn’t be that much different from the usual. His workload isn’t the worst, and he doesn’t really go out much, preferring to hang out with Wonwoo and his friends from various classes at the dorms or around campus. And he’s jobless as of yet, having just quit his old cashier gig at the nearby record store two months ago, so that’s another huge free space in his already loose schedule. Mingyu once again feels as intimidated as he did walking around Minghao’s living room at the thought of him being a busy, organised guy with tons of things to do all the time. Mingyu tries to shake it off. He hasn’t even officially _met_ him yet. Who knows what Minghao actually gets up to, or if he even gets up to things. Maybe he doesn’t. Mingyu should give him _some_ flaws.

He gets so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Wonwoo sneak up from behind him, startling with a yell when he feels his chin dig into his shoulder. Wonwoo doesn’t even flinch, just backs away a little with the smallest of grins. “Geez!” Mingyu whips his head around and protectively shields his phone from Wonwoo’s prying eyes, glaring. “When did you even leave the couch?!” 

“I’ve already seen everything,” Wonwoo says. “You finally gettin’ that good-good?” 

“Die.”

Wonwoo quickly jumps away when Mingyu swats at his stomach. “Trying.” 

Mingyu sticks his tongue out at Wonwoo’s retreating figure into the kitchen and turns his attention back to his phone. Minghao has texted him a thumbs up, followed by a “i’m free on thursdays and the weekend”. He puffs out a breath.

saturday ok? ;^)  


“ _Fuck_.” His fingers fly over the keyboard to correct his blunder. Curse his stubby man fingers. 

*:^) lolll my bad  
lol all good and yea saturday's fine  
what time would be good for you? i'm free all day i think  


Mingyu worries that that made him sound like someone that doesn’t do shit. On the other hand, he might end up sounding like a chill, cool guy that likes to have a good time. He shakes his head. Yeah, no, he totally sounds like that. 

12 ok with you? you said lunch  
yea that's fine!  
alright, nice  
i gotta redeem myself lol ^^"  
ahahah and if you don't?  
try me!  
btw we should meet at the bus stop near my house, i'll send you the directions soon  
we'll see we'll see  
and yea, no problem thanks :)  
see you soon?  
yeaa see you soon :^D  


Mingyu presses send after deleting the heart emoji and replacing it with a smiley. He’ll save hearts for future encounters. He looks up just as Wonwoo emerges from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice, and beams dreamily at him.

“He said yes,” he gushes.

“Your eyes are sparkling,” Wonwoo notes with distaste. “I am unnerved.” 

Mingyu frowns. “Okay, assh –”

“Just kidding,” Wonwoo says, rolling his eyes. “I’m happy for you, dumbass. Have fun.”

“Aw.” Mingyu smiles pleasantly. “Thank you. I love you.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, walking away into his bedroom. “Don’t ruin this.” 

  


  


Mingyu is early. This is a first. If Wonwoo finds out about this somehow, he’d never let Mingyu live it down. “Kim Mingyu? _Early_? Only for his angel!” Mingyu can just _hear_ him say that with his barely-controlled poker face.

Mingyu is also nervous out of his goddamn mind. Adding his feelings for Minghao into this equation means that this is a date. A _romantic_ one, even if it’s only on Mingyu’s part. And that’s _terrifying_. Mingyu thinks he’d be breaking several sweats if the weather was any warmer, but right now, standing in eight degree weather, Mingyu’s appendages have chosen to go numb instead. On the other hand, his mind starts going a mile a minute. He should’ve brought gloves. How is he going to shake hands with Minghao when he can’t even feel his? Are they even _going_ to shake hands? Maybe Minghao’s a huggy person. What if they go for one and Mingyu’s too cold to appreciate it?

“Mingyu…?” 

A familiar voice, one that kind of sounds like it came out of a dream, tears Mingyu away from his thoughts and sends him barrelling back to reality. He whirls around to face it. 

“Minghao!” Mingyu exclaims, a little too loud, and immediately winces. “Sorry,” he whispers, but Minghao doesn’t seem to mind.

“All good,” he says, offering a small smile. Mingyu gives a weak laugh, unable to contain his own grin as his gaze settles easily on Minghao. He looks even better than Mingyu remembers. His brown hair’s perfectly tousled, messy in a neat way, he’s got a cross-shaped earring on his left lobe, and he's wearing a gray coat over a black turtleneck and a pair of acid-wash skinny jeans. Mingyu’s mouth goes dry-ish. He’s never had a thing for turtlenecks before, but this could definitely be the start of something new. “Let’s see if you’ll be able to redeem yourself in my eyes,” Minghao goes on to say, and Mingyu’s grin freezes on his face. Minghao laughs at that, a crookedly cute little thing. “Just kidding,” he says. “You weren’t bad. I’ve had worse.”

“Oh, really? Thank God.” Mingyu places a hand over his heart, sighing. He doesn’t think they’re going to hug _or_ shake hands, so he dons another less nervous smile and cocks a thumb at the general direction of the restaurant. “Wanna get going?”

Minghao nods. “Lead the way.” 

The two of them fall into pace a few seconds into their journey. Mingyu breathes in, feeling cold air hit the back of his throat and catching a little bit of Minghao’s cologne. It’s fresh-smelling, albeit a little generic, but it smells good. 

When was the last time he went on a date? He can’t help but wonder. He thinks it was in his sophomore year of high school. Her name was Cynthia and she had dip-dyed turquoise hair and smelled like gum. She was pretty. They went to see some action movie or something, but all Mingyu really remembers was how she let him slip a hand into the back pocket of her jeans, and then kissed his cheek at the end of the day before he climbed into the car, much to the shock of his dad in the driver’s seat. 

Mingyu sneaks a peek at Minghao. He’s also pretty, in a different way, all smooth, long lines, soft and even everywhere. Mingyu doubts he’d let him slip a hand into the back pocket of his jeans, but it’s not like Mingyu is inclined to anyway. Sophomores will be sophomores. He didn’t know what he wanted then, and neither did Cynthia. Right now, he does, and he wants this date to be a success and prove to Minghao that he’s a chill guy, not the floppy inebriated freeloader that puked into the bushes in front of him. 

He clears his throat, working up a conversation in his head. “So… not the worst?” he asks. 

“What?” Minghao glances at him in confusion before realising what he means. “Oh.” He shakes his head, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “Nope.”

“Tell me your worst, then,” Mingyu says.

Minghao hums, tongue poking out to wet his lower lip in thought, and Mingyu gets distracted if only for about zero point five seconds. “There was this girl at a party last month,” he says.

Mingyu raises a brow. “Yeah?”

“She was a nightmare.” Minghao’s expression contorts into one of displeasure. “She was all angry and – and moody, and, like… it was at a club, too, so people were staring.” He shakes his head quickly, as if to get rid of the bad memory. “Me and my cousin had to drag her out of there and force her into a cab. Took us like half an hour to calm her down.”

Mingyu lets out a low whistle. A car drives past them and sends a fresh gust of cold wind their way, making him wince. “Half an hour?”

Minghao nods solemnly.

“Couldn’t you have just ignored her?” Mingyu asks.

Minghao tilts his head. “I guess that would’ve made my life a lot easier,” he admits. “But I think I would’ve felt way too guilty if I saw her in that state and didn’t do anything about it, you know?”

This guy’s got a huge heart, predisposed to being kind and helping people in trouble out. It makes Mingyu unreasonably fluttery. “Is that why you saved me?” 

Minghao looks at Mingyu in mild surprise. “ _Saved_ you?” He lets out a small laugh into his fist. “Wouldn’t put it _that_ way, but… sure.” He scrunches his forehead slightly and smiles a little weird as he glances at Mingyu. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

There’s a string that Mingyu’s willing to tug at, that compels him to rile Minghao up more, to slowly get the most out of him. It’s like catnip or something. Mingyu can’t resist it, itching to tease him and see what happens. “So,” he says, _maybe this is why people tell little girls boys pull their hair when they like them,_ “you pitied me, was that it?”

“What? No,” Minghao quickly says, turning to him with wide eyes. “I just felt bad. You were all alone, and your friend ditched you…” He raises a brow at him. “Did you _want_ me to leave you alone?” _Except. That’s bad. Obviously. That’s bullying. I would never pull Minghao’s hair._

“Then… you _cared_ about me?” Mingyu leans in closer. _Not unless he asks me to, then that’s a different story –_

“Well… yeah? What do you want from me?” Minghao eyes Mingyu suspiciously, a grin tickling the corners of his mouth. It’s encouraging, wresting a giggle out of Mingyu, and he wants to get even closer, but in a miraculous feat of willpower, he doesn’t, and swoops back into his own space where the smell of Minghao’s cologne is weaker.

“Just wanted to make sure everything you did wasn’t out of pity,” Mingyu says.

Minghao cocks a brow at him. “What kind of person do you think I am?” 

“I dunno, you tell me.”

Minghao purses his lips in thought. “My star sign is Scorpio. What does that say?”

“Other than you’re apparently supposed to be incredible in bed, not much,” Mingyu says, and Minghao looks away, blushing.

“Zodiacs are a sham,” he says.

“So you’re saying you’re _not_ great in bed?” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Minghao says, burying his chin into his scarf.

Mingyu laughs. “Just playin’.” God, he feels twelve. _Minghao_ makes him feel twelve. He wants to holdhis spindly handand kisshis cheekand squish his face. Run his fingers through his hair. Give him a piggyback ride. The whole shebang. Mingyu wants all that. Oh no, what has he become?

“You know, at the party, I was actually _this_ close to ditching you,” Minghao is saying, and Mingyu pulls away from his twelvie thoughts for a second to pay attention. Minghao gives him an evil side-eye. “But then we made eye contact.” Mingyu barks out another laugh at that, and Minghao shakes his head. “And _then_ I remembered my New Year’s resolution is to become a nicer person, so…”

“Look where it led you,” Mingyu says, and, before he can _really_ think about it, slings an arm around Minghao’s shoulders. And Minghao lets him. He fits perfectly in the crook of Mingyu’s arm, so perfectly that Mingyu feels like crying or maybe pulling Minghao’s head to his chest or something scary like that, and – _why does he fit so perfectly?_

Minghao’s voice is an amused monotone when he asks, “Where _did_ it lead me?”

“Into my arms,” Mingyu replies, heart going rapidfire in his chest. And, just to make sure he doesn’t scare Minghao off, adds, “And friendship.”

Minghao snorts. “Wow.”

Mingyu lets go of Minghao with a grin, giving him a pat on the shoulder. He locks his fingers behind his back and wills his heart to chill out. God help him if he reaches out and, like, holds Minghao’s hand. 

“So where’s this dumpling place?” Minghao asks.

“Uh, closeby,” Mingyu says. “We’re like three minutes away now. Sorry, I don’t actually know the address or what it’s called, just that it’s amazing and near my house.”

“I usually just get my aunt to make me some if I’m in the mood,” Minghao tells him. “She lives near me, so it’s all easy.”

“I know,” Mingyu says, then immediately realises that that sounds _incredibly_ creepy, and backtracks when Minghao shoots him a weird look. “I-I mean,” he rushes out, “I – my housemate. Wonwoo. Your classmate? He told me that you and your aunt live near each other? It’s not… I didn’t – y’know.”

“Ahh, right. Wonwoo. Yeah.” Minghao visibly relaxes, nodding, and Mingyu figuratively slaps himself across the cheek as he nods back _._ “He did mention having a housemate one time, but he never said it was you.”

“He… does he talk about me?”

“Mm… not really.” As if someone had flicked on a switch in his brain, his gaze turns bright and playful when he gives Mingyu a look. “Why, are you hiding some shady things? Should I be careful around you?” 

“Wonwoo likes to defame my image,” Mingyu sniffs.

“Oh, so you have an _image_?” 

“Yes,” Mingyu says over the stretch of Minghao’s grin. It’s kind of lopsided and Mingyu wants to keep it there forever. “Charming, friendly, and handsome.” He points to himself. “That’s me.” 

Minghao’s expression sobers up, but he keeps his bright gaze trained onto Mingyu. Mingyu stares right back, feeling his heart flitter precariously. “Hmm,” Minghao says, then looks away. Mingyu blinks before facing forwards as well. His cheeks have gotten hotter. “So how long have you known him?” Minghao asks, snapping Mingyu back to attention.

He sighs and slips his hands into his coat pockets, looking up at the sky. Wonwoo, his right-hand man, the platonic love of his life, the one who went through his awkward long-hair-anime-emo phase in high school… “Long enough,” he says. “We met freshman year of high school.”

“Oh, wow, really?” Minghao’s eyes widen. “That’s… six years. I’ve never kept friends for that long.”

“Oh. Really? Oh. But –” Mingyu is scrambling to find the appropriate words. _But you’re so amazingly lovely and cute, how could people not fall in love with you platonically or otherwise, I mean look at me I’m totally falling for you I’d stay with you for six years and more probably –_ “You’re, like, so kind.” Good enough.

Minghao turns his head to look up at Mingyu. “Is that the kind of person you think I am?”

Mingyu doesn’t really feel like bullshitting this one. “Pretty much.” 

“Oh.” Minghao drops his gaze and smiles, but it’s a different kind of smile, smaller and shyer, and Mingyu wants to yell. “Thanks.” He shakes his head, then goes on. “Anyway, I’m impressed. How do friendships like that even happen?” 

“No idea, but it’s pretty great,” Mingyu replies. The sincerity and wonder in Minghao’s question makes Mingyu want to swaddle him tightly in a thousand blankets and carry him in his arms. He could totally do that. He probably would need to work out his biceps a little more, but he’s getting there.

Soon, they reach a crosswalk. Mingyu goes to press the button at the same time Minghao does, and their fingers brush, just slightly. There’s an awkward pause before they both pull their hands away to make room for the other. That makes Mingyu giddy-giggle. 

“I’ll do it,” Minghao says, kind of muffled and frustrated, and pushes the button himself. 

“Thanks,” Mingyu says, teetering on his heels. After a short pause, he asks, “So what do you do? In uni, I mean.” He gives Minghao a glance; his cheeks have reddened considerably. 

“Fashion marketing,” Minghao answers, pulling his scarf up to his chin again. It’s black-and-white and thick and totally not what Mingyu would get, but it suits Minghao and his outfit supremely well. 

“That’s awesome,” Mingyu marvels. “You a second year too?” 

“Yep.” Minghao’s eyes gleam in the winter sun when he looks at Mingyu. “What’s your major?”

“Ah, I’m –” Mingyu freezes, trying not to stare and failing. Hard. “Computer science.” 

“Oh, cool, my friend Soonyoung takes that too. Do you know him?”

“Uhh…” Mingyu thinks for a moment, running through a list of people he knows. It’s not very long, but the name doesn’t ring a bell. And it doesn’t help that Minghao looks distractingly kissable in this exact moment. “Don’t think so. No.”

“Oh, okay. Well, anyway. He does.” Minghao shrugs. “The only reason I know him is ‘cause he’s friends with the host of that party.” 

“And how do you know the host?” Mingyu asks, just as the crosswalk starts beeping rapidly, signalling the OK to resume walking. 

“We’re cousins.”

“Oh, for real?” Mingyu’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “Oh, then - so the – _ohhh_. Hey, that's so cool. Jun’s, like, a pretty big deal. Everyone knows him, kind of? His parties are always amazing.”

“Yeah, I guess, I just wish he’d stop using his parents’ townhouse to host them,” Minghao says, and Mingyu nods in sympathy. “He has his own place that’s way nicer. But – oh –” 

Mingyu’s well past denying that he’s a graceful creature, but in a split second, he manages to somehow lose his footing over a flat surface, and his life flashes before his eyes as he feels his body topple helplessly forwards. But, immediately, he feels a warmth wrap around him before he hits the ground. A sense of deja vu envelops him as his eyes focus on Minghao’s face now suddenly very, very close in his field of vision.

In an ungraceful, B-grade tango of sorts, Minghao’s got Mingyu’s back propped up against his arm and hand, breaking the fall, and his face is hovering inches away from Mingyu’s own. His other hand is gripping Mingyu’s outstretched one, and his thin body is plastered against Mingyu’s, blocking the cold air, while Mingyu’s fist grips his side. Minghao’s face seizes up with realisation, and he stares at Mingyu, barely blinking, and Mingyu stares right back, barely breathing.

“Sure you’re completely sober today?” Minghao sneers, somewhat stifled.

“Oh, ha, _ha_ ,” Mingyu mumbles. 

Behind them, someone pops their head out of their car window and whistles. It seems to snap Minghao out of his stupor, and he helps Mingyu right himself back up. 

“You okay?” he asks, after they’ve finally unglued themselves from each other.

Mingyu notices that Minghao still has a hand on his lower back. He tries to nod. “Peachy.” For a dangerous second, his eyes fall on Minghao’s lips. He screws them shut. “Sorry. Uh.”

“All good.” Minghao sounds kind of distant. Another driver, possibly the same one, possibly not, yells, “When’s the wedding?!” Minghao snorts, turning pink, and Mingyu rubs his nose. They awkwardly scuttle across the final few meters to the other side of the road before the sign turns red.

Mingyu’s whole body is tingly and hot despite the cold weather. He must look like a lobster. He _feels_ like one. He gives Minghao a cursory glance; he’s standing next to him, looking normal if not a little more subdued. 

If that wasn’t a scene straight out of Mingyu’s fever dreams, then he doesn’t know what the hell is. 

“Guess I only need you to keep me warm this winter,” he almost says, but manages to clamp his voicebox shut. He doesn’t think… at least… not yet. Not now. The staring was… well, it was probably nothing. Just shock, if anything. Mingyu bites his lip in mortification, blushing harder when the driver hoots at them when they drive past. 

When Mingyu can’t take the silence any longer, he stuffs his hands into his coat. “Is, uh, saving people your specialty or something?” he teases.

Minghao lets out a quiet string of laughter, avoiding eye contact. “Guess so.”

“Cool,” Mingyu says, laughing nervously. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to recover from this, but he can fake it til he makes it. He looks around and quickly spots the dumpling restaurant’s red and yellow sign. “There’s our place.”

Minghao follows his gaze, letting go of his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Mingyu watches it bounce. “Nice.” 

Mingyu is pretty sure that that was the nearest to death he had ever been.

Even though it’s lunchtime on a Saturday, they miraculously didn’t have to wait for very long to get a table, and end up next to one of the huge glass windows panelling one side of the restaurant, which is where Mingyu likes to sit at whenever he comes by.

“Lucky we got a place real quick,” Mingyu says in relief, shedding off his coat and hanging it over the back of his chair. Minghao keeps his on, nodding at the table. “One time Wonwoo and I went during rush hour and we had to wait two hours.”

“Wow. Was it worth it?” 

“Hell yeah it was worth it! I’m not lying to you when this place makes the best dumplings on the planet.”

Minghao smiles slyly, glancing at Mingyu. “You might wanna take that challenge up to my aunt.”

“Whoa, meeting the family already? I haven’t even taken you out to dinner yet.” He meant it as harmless banter even if it does sound somewhat romantic, but Minghao blushes and his smile kind of falls, and Mingyu’s insides flare up in panic. Was that the wrong thing to say? “Like… no offense to your aunt because I’m sure she’s a kind, loving lady, but I doubt she’ll top the dumplings here,” he scoffs, trying to make amends.

Minghao brandishes a chopstick at Mingyu but doesn’t look at him. “Watch it.”

They eventually order their food and drinks. Waiting for them isn’t bad – they fill it with some talk even though most get drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. It’s not terribly awkward, but Mingyu keeps finding it way harder to stop staring at Minghao, who can’t seem to look at _him_ , which makes Mingyu nervous. But they talk. And, well, that’s better than utter silence. 

It does start to build, however, at the tail end of their meal, when their food’s all gone and their drinks are more than halfway sipped. Mingyu is restlessly tapping his fingers on his thigh, brain whirring over what to do next, when a soft burp emanates from Minghao. He stares at Minghao in surprise.

“Sorry,” Minghao says, frowning.

A small laugh inadvertently bubbles out of Mingyu’s throat at how embarrassed Minghao looks. “All good.”

“That was really good,” Minghao says. “The food, I mean. I enjoyed it. Thanks.”

“Told you,” Mingyu says, fiddling with the straw in his lemon tea. “And weren’t those dumplings amazing?”

“Mmm… ten out of ten.”

“Told you!” 

“But,” Minghao interjects, “my aunt’s are twelve out of ten.”

“Oh, whatever,” Mingyu says, waving a dismissive hand. 

“I’d totally come back here, though,” Minghao says, making a face when he leans back in his seat. “Ugh, I’m so full now.”

“Same.” Mingyu sighs, running a hand over his stomach. “I’ll admit, their fried rice wasn’t as good as your aunt’s.”

“You complimenting it so much kinda makes me wish I _had_ made it.” 

Mingyu lets out a surprised laugh. “I kinda wished that, too.”

“Can’t cook for crap.” Minghao shrugs. “But I’m good at tidying things up, weird as that sounds.” He runs a hand through his hair, and it swoops back down his forehead, soft. Mingyu wants to ruffle it. 

“That’s not weird, that’s useful.” He feels the awkwardness thinning out and beams wider, leaning in carefully. “You know, I could probably try and recreate it,” he says, giving Minghao a look, and Minghao finally – _finally_ looks back, eyebrows raised.

“The fried rice? Would you succeed?” 

“It’s ninety-ten,” Mingyu admits, “but do you wanna be my taste-tester?” 

“What an honour,” Minghao says sarcastically, but he looks intrigued nonetheless, and it makes Mingyu’s heart soar. He gives Mingyu a once-over, that teasing gleam back in his gaze. “If it poisons me I’m suing you.”

“I’ll make it so good you’ll come back for more.”

Minghao echoes the grin on Mingyu’s face. “Deal.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He cooks and he doubts.

Truth be told, Mingyu hasn’t properly cooked in a while.

He tells Minghao as much, both of them standing in Minghao’s kitchen on a Friday afternoon, the fridge’s humming a background noise. It feels a tad weird to be back here, but it also feels a lot _right_.

“Oh,” Minghao says. His brown hair is unstyled and pin-straight instead of the layered sort of waves, brushing the tips of his ears. “Really?” 

“Yeah, I think it’s been a few months? Not sure.” Mingyu was a fool for ever thinking that the college slump people speak of is a rumour because it’s definitely real and he’s _definitely_ in it. “There’s, like, the occasional egg-frying… but it’s mostly just been ramen and toast. Your hair looks cute, by the way.” It slips out before Mingyu can really stop himself and Minghao looks up at him briefly.

“Oh,” he says again, before looking down and away. He tucks a longer strand behind his ear. “Thanks.”

The sky outside the window above the sink is a watery tangerine, lazy clouds whispering across it. It reminds Mingyu of when he’d fuss around in the kitchen after school to host dinner nights for his family every few Sundays and make them loads of dishes, dreaming of the day he’d finally go off to uni and live with three housemates in a cool apartment with a white fur rug and polished wooden floors and cook _them_ food all the time. 

“Well,” Minghao says, “this was all your idea.”

“I’m not gonna lie, man,” Mingyu says. “I’m kinda regretting it now.”

Minghao simply gestures with his hand, as if to say, “Get to it,” and Mingyu puffs out a big sigh but obediently slides his backpack off his shoulders, unzipping it to reach into the stuff inside.

Minghao sidles up to Mingyu, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushing light against Mingyu’s upper arm as he inspects the tools of the trade. “You spent actual money on all these ingredients? _Just_ for this one-time thing?” he asks. He picks up a clove of garlic and gives it a tentative sniff. 

“Who said this was gonna be a one-off?” Mingyu says, taking out some green-leafed vegetables. “I told you, I’m gonna make it so good you’re gonna be _begging_ me for more.” 

“You just said you haven’t cooked in months.” 

“Yeah, but it’s all gonna be just fine.”

Minghao hums. “You’re making me feel really safe in your company.”

“That’s kinda the aim, babe,” Mingyu says, and he can feel Minghao stiffen up, and shit, okay, maybe that was a little too much. The egg he sloppily placed down onto the counter starts to roll away, and he panics and reaches forward to grab it but ends up knocking over the bottle of soy sauce. Luckily, Minghao saves the egg from falling to its untimely demise, and Mingyu manages to avoid spilling anything. 

“ _Really_ safe,” Minghao says. Mingyu laughs and hopes Minghao doesn’t catch the nervousness in it. He wishes he had, like, a reverse button. Or something to refine his thought-to-speech process. “I’m volunteering myself as kitchen helper,” Minghao goes on to say. “No way I’m leaving you alone.” 

“I’m not a baby!” Mingyu complains.

“Okay, you baby,” Minghao says. “What do you need?” 

“Shut up.” Mingyu turns around to face the drawers and cupboards behind him and rests his back against the island, eyes flicking around in search of a cutting board. “I need a cutting board.”

Wordlessly, Minghao slips right in front of him, opens a drawer, and takes one out. Mingyu holds his breath when Minghao turns around in the small space between the counter and the island, suddenly aware of how close together they are; the cutting board is the only thing keeping their torsos and chests from being completely flush against one another, and, subsequently, Mingyu’s crazy heartbeat from being heard. Minghao looks up at him. “Here.”

Mingyu blinks and forces his gaze downwards to the board in Minghao’s hand instead of his face. “Ever thought about getting a bigger kitchen?” he asks.

“Tell that to my bank account,” Minghao says. He seems so unaffected by the distance between them that it sets Mingyu on edge. Why is he the only one freaking out about this? Maybe he shouldn’t be. 

“Fair enough,” Mingyu mumbles. Schooling his expression and voice to something more normal, he grabs the cutting board out of Minghao’s hand. “Okay, move, I don’t need you anymore.”

Minghao puts on an offended face but obliges, sidestepping away towards the fridge where there’s more space.

“Wait, just kidding,” Mingyu says, and Minghao turns to face him. He bats his lashes sweetly. “Could you get started on the rice?”

Cooking food for people brings Mingyu an unfathomable sort of joy. It’s the one thing he knows he’s above average at. Cooking food for the guy he’s super into? Well. He doesn’t know whether to throw up or dance around. One thing’s for sure, though – he’s going to try his _damndest_ to make this the best replica of that fried rice ever recorded. He scrolls through the recipe on his phone, the one Minghao sent to him a few nights ago ( _my aunt seemed really happy when i told her yuo were remaking her fried rice hahahah_ ), and then, after taking a deep breath, slams an onion onto the cutting board and starts dicing. 

“Wow, okay, Gordon Ramsay,” Minghao comments. 

“Stop it.” 

“Do you want, like, sunglasses or something?” Minghao asks, sounding more concerned. “For your eyes?” 

Mingyu shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he insists. He feels the telltale sting do a slow crawl up his nose, but it’s nothing. 

Minghao pauses uncertainly, pouring rice into the cooker. “If you say so.”

  


  


“Hey Mingyu? I don’t have plastic gloves, but I have plastic bags we can probably cut _into_ gloves. Is that okay?” 

“What?” Mingyu looks up from dicing his second onion to Minghao making his way over, holding some plastic bags in his hand. “Oh.” He squints and blinks a couple hundred times. Everything looks so _blurry_. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Okay,” Minghao says, meeting his gaze. “I tho –” At the sight of him, he stops himself with a frown. “Are you crying?” 

“No,” Mingyu says. He scrunches his eyes shut and winces in pain, pushing his palm into his wet socket. “Maybe.” He breathes out. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been _two_ _minutes_.” Minghao hurriedly puts the plastic bags onto the island then goes to grab some paper towels, going up to Mingyu and dabbing his wet face before Mingyu can do it with his hands. He clicks his tongue. “I _told_ you you needed sunglasses.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Is that snot on your shirt? Did you get snot on the _food_?”

“I _didn’t_.” Mingyu blindly tries to snatch the paper towels out of Minghao’s grip. “That _hurts_ , you’re rubbing too hard –” 

“The pain’s coming from the _inside_ , idiot,” Minghao snaps, but he sounds like he’s grinning.

“Are you – are you laughing at me?” Mingyu asks, leaning away from Minghao’s insistent blotting, but Minghao’s got a strong hold on him and he barely moves an inch. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m pitying you.”

“You’re a demon.” He feels Minghao’s fingers on his jaw, and he really isn’t sure that they need to be there at all, and that makes him feel fluttery. “A demon with cute hair.” 

“And you’re an idiot baby.” 

“Ugh, _fuck_ , I hate onions.”

Minghao slaps him square on the back. “I _told_ you you needed sunglasses.”

  


  


“Verdict?”

Minghao stares at him with a frown and his lips wrapped around the spoon, and Mingyu pointedly stares right back. He can’t help but be eager about the review. He _has_ to know.

“I followed the recipe to a T,” Mingyu says, gently taking the spoon out of Minghao’s mouth and putting it back down into the plate of rice. “Although personally I’d make that two drops of chili oil instead of three.” He watches Minghao chew slowly, growing marginally tense. “But I followed every single step. Your aunt should be proud of me.”

“It’s good,” Minghao says, nodding quietly.

“I used every single ingredient on the recipe, too,” he rambles on. “I think – again, this is just a personal preference – I think I would’ve liked if it called for shallots, too, I think it would’ve just added more flavour, y’know?”

“This is really good.” Minghao looks up at him. Mingyu blinks.

“Thanks,” he says, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you. That’s – really? I mean, of course it is, but…” He shoots a small, hopeful grin at Minghao. “Yeah?”

“No, it’s disgusting and I want to spit it out. Yes, it’s delicious. Good job, Mingyu.”

“You’re not as funny as you think.”

Minghao chews his rice, all the while keeping eye contact with Mingyu. He finally swallows. “Fuck you.” 

Mingyu bursts out giggling, nudging him. “Would you come back for more?”

Minghao rolls his eyes up to the ceiling in thought. “I’d say this is even better than my aunt’s.”

Mingyu feels like all the achievements he’s gotten in his life so far don’t matter as much as this one. That first-place trophy from his fourth-grade soccer tournament? Worthless. “Is that a yes?”

Minghao doesn’t answer, simply opening his mouth and pointing to the rice. Mingyu rolls his eyes but scoops up a spoonful and feeds it to him. “I’ll take that as such,” he mumbles, scowling when Minghao beams at him through a mouthful, eyes all narrow crescents and cheeks puffed out and ridiculous-looking.

  


  


“I can’t believe I love him,” Mingyu says the next Saturday afternoon. The heater in his room has been on and humming for three hours but he and Wonwoo are still bundled up in woolly socks and sweaters and thermals because it doesn’t actually work very well at all. They keep it on anyway because whatever. It’s more a placebo than anything. A source for brown noise, too, which Wonwoo finds helpful, but Mingyu simply likes the illusion of warmth engulfing his body. 

Wonwoo doesn’t look up from rewriting his lecture notes, stretched out vertically across Mingyu’s bed. “You’ve said that about ten times since yesterday.”

“You were counting?” Mingyu makes a face. “Weirdo.” He clips off his small toenail, sticking his tongue out at Wonwoo when he glares at him. Turning back to his nails, he sighs, frowns at them, and sighs again, looking up at the ceiling. “I keep thinking about our… thing. Me and him. Yesterday.” 

Wonwoo gives Mingyu a glance. “You had fun, right?”

“I did!” Mingyu says. “Of course I did, I totally did. It was great. _He_ was great. It’s just –” He pauses, jiggling his leg. “I dunno, there’s, like, this _thing_ I feel, and… I dunno. It’s not great.” He purses his lips and shakes his head. There’s a subtle undercurrent of doubt that’s bothering him, and, if he was being very honest with himself, it’s been happening since he first started talking to Minghao. And he doesn’t know _why_. He feels overdramatic every time he acknowledges it, but then again he’s never been very good at hiding his feelings. Besides, he knows it’s way more productive to admit that he’s feeling bad rather than suppressing it. The downside, however, is that he has to go through this whole process of talking it out, which he dislikes, because what always happens is that he talks too much but doesn’t say enough.

But maybe that’s exactly why Wonwoo’s his best friend.

Wonwoo observes Mingyu’s distressed figure in silence for a moment. “Are you scared?”

Mingyu looks at him. “Scared?” he echoes. He tries to match it to the emotion he’s been feeling. Was he scared when they went out to eat dumplings? Was he scared when they met up the second time, when Minghao beamed at him and welcomed him back to his house? “M… Maybe? Like, it’s more like…” He stops jiggling his leg. “Yeah, no, never mind, I can’t think of any syllables. But… but not _at_ him.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says. “You might be scared of something else, then.”

“What? Like what?” Mingyu asks. 

“Not sure,” Wonwoo admits. He uncaps a green highlighter and putting the tip down onto his notebook. When he’s done highlighting a few things, he looks back up at Mingyu, who’s now slouched in his desk chair, chewing on his fingernails. “What do you think?”

Mingyu hesitates. “M – I don’t know? Maybe it’s…” He looks at Wonwoo then, clutching the armrests of his chair. “I don’t know? I’m just like – maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just nervousness. Y’know, butterflies. Like, when people get crushes on someone and they start feeling all queasy.” 

“True,” Wonwoo says, “but maybe it’s something else.”

“Something else?”

“Maybe…” Wonwoo taps his pen against his notebook, eyes thoughtful and downcast. “Maybe you’re scared that Minghao’s not going to return your feelings.” 

Mingyu’s whole world goes quiet. Is that… is that really what he’s been feeling?

Wonwoo rolls onto his back. “Maybe you’re scared that all the time you guys have been spending is just platonic bro-time to Minghao.”

“Oh… oh shit,” Mingyu says weakly, drooping into his chair. He suddenly feels sick, but at the same time, it’s like a veil has been lifted over his eyes and he can see everything in 1080p for the first time. More than the one-sidedness, he’s scared of the potential trip down Platonic Road. Minghao thinking that Mingyu’s only in it for the _friendship_? “ _Shit_.” He bolts up on his feet. “I don’t want him to think that! I… I don’t want him to think that _I_ think it’s all bro-time! Wonwoo, what if he thinks I’m not into him? What if… oh God, what if he thinks I’m _straight_?”

Wonwoo goes back on his stomach, scratching his head with the end of his pen. “There’s really no way of knowing for sure unless you ask him straight up, which –” he points to Mingyu with urgency, “– you absolutely should _not_ do – or… if he suddenly makes a romantic gesture or something.”

Mingyu’s jaw falls open slightly. “A _gesture_?”

“A move,” Wonwoo explains, but Mingyu is still staring at him like he’s talking in code. “Like if he… I dunno… kisses you or holds your han –”

“ _Kisses_ me?!”

“I’m speaking hypothetically,” Wonwoo cuts in, pushing his glasses up his nose. “This is all – listen, what I’m _trying_ to say is that you should maybe watch what he does.” 

“Wh – wa – wh –”

“As in, his physical reactions and things like that. Sometimes you can kind of tell when someone’s into you, right? Like, they’d blush for no discernible reason, or blink too much, or blink too _little_ , or laugh and smile lots, get kind of shy… things like that.”

Mingyu’s brain is whirring. He brings a hand up to his mouth and starts nibbling on his fingernails again. Things like _that_? Has Minghao been blushing? Has Minghao been reacting to anything? And even if he has, do they even count as “being into” Mingyu?

“Wow,” Wonwoo mumbles after a considerable silence. “This is worse than with Sana.”

Mingyu snaps his head up to look at Wonwoo, eyes fearful circles. “That’s exactly what _I_ was thinking!” he cries. “I’m doomed!”

Wonwoo clicks his red pen, underlining a sentence in his notebook. “Yup.”

“He should’ve _never_ brought me home.”

“Never. Should’ve just left you at the party to die so I can finally have your nice bed.”

Mingyu shoots him a dirty look. “Fool, Seungkwan’s getting my nice bed. We made an agreement for if I died suddenly.” 

“Oh, is _that_ how it is? Is that how much you value our friendship, or should I even call it a friendsh –”

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu whines.

“What?”

“I’m scared.”

Wonwoo sighs. “It’ll be fine.”

Mingyu chews on his lower lip. “Really?”

“Really,” Wonwoo insists. “Just, like… think about it. How does he act around you?”

Mingyu nods. “Okay.”

“I honestly think you have nothing to worry about,” Wonwoo says. “But talk to me once you figure it out. And… don’t just straight up ask him, _please_. Be tactful.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu nods again, then shakes his head. “Yeah, no, that – that’s crazy. I wouldn’t.” He falls back into his seat and gives his cheeks a massage, heaving a sigh. “Thanks, Wonwoo. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wonwoo says. “You’ll be fine, Gyu.”

Mingyu is determined to believe that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight pause, an electric thing...

The next afternoon, Mingyu awakens to the smell of frying eggs. Wonwoo must be fixing something up. His stomach immediately complains of hunger, but he just woke up from a dream that involved Minghao and has zero desire to get up and start being human. Fragments of it stick in his head, all varying levels of sappy. He yawns and stretches as he walks through them; he thinks there was cuddling. And hand-kissing. And there were so many flower petals. And they were in high school, and Minghao had pink hair. Mingyu doesn’t know what his conscience is trying to tell him through all that, and he covers his quickly reddening face.

“God will you ever shut _up_ ,” he tells himself sternly, but can’t help the grin that spreads across his cheeks anyway. After writhing around in embarrassed glee, he digs around under his pillow for his phone and unlocks it. He has received a text from Jungkook, just five short minutes ago. 

not coming to class?  
  


Rolling over onto his front, Mingyu types out a reply. 

nah  
lol did you skip this week's readings again  
^^  


Mingyu sighs and thunks his head back down onto the pillow, slipping his eyes shut. It’s 2:01 p.m, meaning he could technically still make it for the last hour of the two-hour lecture, but why the hell would he? He dozes off for another few minutes before he awakens once more.

you ok?  


He stretches again before curling up onto his side and replying.

just lazy  
lol i feel you  
stop texting in class  
your not my parent  
you're*  
lmao  
so me and a couple guys are going bowling this fri and we need one more guy so we can get the free for one hour thing  
wanna join?  
this fri??  
lol that made me sound like im dragging you along just for the free thing hahah i’d invite you either way hahahha  
suuuure  
i swear lol  
jks all good i know i'm irresistible  
yea i'll come  
LOL  
cool  
meet me at my dorm at 5?  
sure sure  
yug's gonna be there but i pormise no one's gonna get high this time  
HAHAH i sure hope so.....  
what if he's drunk instead  
i'll carry him  
out of there  
HAHHAHAHAHAH I CAN ACTUALLY SEE YOU DOING THAT  
ahahahah  
there's another guy tagging along  
:^o sweet  
yeahhh he's chill you'll like him  


  


  


It’s quite funny how some things turn out in Mingyu’s life sometimes, like how he used to be very on top of his physical activities in high school, but now all forms of exercise have been reduced to rare visits to the gym. He just hasn’t had the time or the shits to give, priorities shifting elsewhere, mostly in regards to money and funds and staying alive. 

It’s _less_ funny how some people turn up in Mingyu’s life when he least expects it. 

Minghao’s standing there with a basket of nachos in his hand and some in his mouth, regarding Mingyu with puffy cheeks and cheese dripping down his fingers. _The other guy._ Mingyu thinks of Jungkook’s text from a few days back and laughs inwardly. His figure-8 earring glints in the purple-tinted lighting of the bowling alley. He waves. Swallows his mouthful. “Hi.”

A few alleys down, someone shouts in victory as they pummel all ten pins. Mingyu grins stupidly. “Hey.”

He looks cute and casual with an orange t-shirt and black skinny jeans. A thick olive green bomber jacket is tied snug around his thin waist. Mingyu trails his gaze down further to his feet.

“Nice shoes,” Mingyu comments. He’s only half-sarcastic; even the dumb bowling shoes look somewhat acceptable on Minghao. 

“You have the same ones,” Minghao says, then offers the basket of nachos to him. “Want some?” 

_Of you_ , Mingyu’s brain automatically supplies, and he bites down on his lip. “I’m good.” 

“You say that when you’re not actually,” Minghao says, taking Mingyu by surprise. Minghao’s looking at him matter-of-factly, face soft and hard all at once in the aubergine lighting.

“Huh?”

“You… like,” Minghao begins. “That day, when you were at my place. When you were cutting onions, I asked if you wanted sunglasses to protect your eyes, and you said “I’m good”, and then later I came back and found you crying.” He crunches on a piece of tortilla chip, then points at Mingyu with it. “You’re lying.”

Mingyu raises a brow, but he feels like he’d just been caught doing something illegal and stripped completely naked even though he’s pretty sure Minghao has no idea what’s _really_ going on with him. “Didn’t realise you were my therapist,” he says. “You gonna tell me to ‘open up’ now?”

“Whoa, who’s opening up what?” Yugyeom appears from behind Mingyu, slapping a hand on his shoulder. Mingyu startles, looking to his side. He’s completely sober today, a small, pleasant smile on his face, gaze floating between Minghao and Mingyu in waiting.

“Mingyu and his stubborn head,” Minghao replies first, then offers his basket of nachos to him. “Want some?”

“Nah, I ordered one for myself just now. Mingyu, you should get some too. We all got one. It’s like a circle jerk of nachos.”

Minghao groans and Mingyu makes a face. “Uh… sure.” 

“Snack stall’s over there,” Yugyeom says brightly, pointing to the stall towards the back of the alley. It’s right next to the shoe station, “REFRESHMENTS” in neon pink letters making it impossible to miss. “You brought cash, yeah?”

“Um… yeah,” Mingyu says, feeling around for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. He finds it, relieved. “Yes.” 

Minutes later, only when he’s just about to pay, he finds out that his wallet is completely void of any currencies.

“Uhhh.” His head shoots up from staring dumbly at his wallet. The half-dead-looking cashier is waiting for him with his basket of nachos in her hand. Thinking quickly, he puts on his most charming, apologetic smile at her. “You know what?” he says. “I just remembered. I’m on a diet. Can you believe that?” He sighs, shaking his head. “Completely slipped my mind. I am so sorry about this. Enjoy your day.” He’s not even sure she bought it (she probably didn’t), or if she cares (she definitely didn’t), but he turns around and speedwalks away.

Yugyeom frowns at him when he returns. “You didn’t get anything?” he asks. 

“Sorry I can’t complete the circle jerk,” Mingyu says. “Guess I underestimated the price a little. I’ll just mooch off of you guys.” 

At that little joke, Jungkook looks up from polishing his bowling ball. “Sorry, Gyu,” he calls out, “but you’re not mooching anything from me.” 

“Wasn’t gonna,” he calls back. His gaze lands on Minghao, who’s looking at him with this knowing expression on his face. “What?” he asks, eyeing him up and down. “Am I not allowed to mooch off yours, either?”

“No,” Minghao says, “because I’ll buy you one.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says, heart stuttering. “The saviour strikes again.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Nah, I’m good, don’t worry about it.”

“You’re lying again,” Minghao sings, brushing past him.

“I am _not_.”

Minghao turns around and starts walking backwards, slowing down a little as if waiting for Mingyu, who’s rooted in place. 

“I said I’m good,” Mingyu insists.

Minghao tilts his head.

Mingyu rolls his eyes, stomping over to catch up to Minghao. He’s got a little smile on his face, all pretty and smug like he knows he’s won. It’s a good look on him. Mingyu snatches Minghao’s wallet out of his hand. “Unbelievable,” he says.

Minghao’s smile stretches into a grin, and he pokes Mingyu in the arm. “At this point I should be getting paid to babysit you, you big baby.”

Mingyu clicks his tongue. “Now I have to go tell the lady that I’m breaking my diet.”

“What?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t have enough cash on me, but by the time I realised, she’d already made the nachos, so I felt really bad and said whoops! I’m on a diet, actually! I totally forgot, silly me!”

Minghao laughs. “That’s supposed to make her feel better?” His voice cracks in places, catching onto his laughter. Mingyu had no idea he could sound like that.

“Well… yeah?” he says. 

“Oh, wow,” Minghao says. “You’re a strange one.”

Mingyu winks at him. “Thanks, sweets.” Minghao pushes him away, shaking his head. 

The lady at the snack stall raises her head up from filing her nails.

“Hi.” Mingyu flashes her a smile. “Me again. I’ve returned for my nachos. Dieting’s hard, and I’m a weak man.” Beside him, Minghao snorts softly and buries his face into his shoulder. Mingyu gives him a warning nudge, revelling in the way his nose is softly pressing into his sweater. He smiles wider. “You know how it is.”

The lady chews her gum, staring blankly, and just as Mingyu thought he’s blown it and he’s never going to get his nachos, she brings back the same basket from before and thunks it on the counter. “Six thirty.” 

Mingyu quickly slides over two five-dollar bills and takes the nachos. “Keep the change.”

“Bless you,” the lady deadpans, and Mingyu promptly scurries away with Minghao giggling like a fool.

“You nearly blew my cover!” Mingyu hisses at him when they’re out of earshot, stuffing a piece of nacho into his mouth to stop himself from grinning. “I hate you.”

“Hey, I paid for those, you can’t hate me,” Minghao says, smacking his shoulder. 

“I know,” Mingyu says, sadly. He knows. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Minghao says. “And don’t try to insist, please, I hate when people insist.” 

“Wow, you really do pity me, huh,” Mingyu says, then gives Minghao a small nudge and a smile when he makes a face. “I’m kidding. Thank you.”

Minghao nods, satisfied. “That’s more like it.”

“ _Finally_!” Yugyeom cries the moment they return. “We’ve been waiting for years. I’m taking you on this first round, Hao.” 

“Oh?” Minghao’s grin returns, and he strolls towards Yugyeom standing near the ball machine. “Fine. Loser does something for winner.” 

“Loser _buys_ something for winner.”

“That’s basically what I said.”

“Okay, listen…”

“Hey, you got nachos!” Jungkook’s bright voice comes. Mingyu gives him a smile that goes unnoticed because he’s looking at Minghao and Yugyeom’s bickering with a shake of his head. “They do this all the time,” he says. “Dumb bets and dares and contests. I’m so tired.”

“Do they keep score?” 

“Apparently,” Jungkook says. “And apparently Minghao’s winning, but Yugyeom says that’s a lie. I don’t know what’s real anymore. One time we went out to karaoke and they tried to see who could rap the fastest. It was terrible.” 

Mingyu accidentally inhales a tiny piece of nacho when Minghao rolls his sleeves up, revealing thin but toned arms, and starts choking. Standing beside him, Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“You okay?”

“Yep,” Mingyu chokes. Minghao’s lifting a bowling ball up, long, graceful fingers curled into the holes. He’s grinning after saying something to Yugyeom, brows raised in comic glee. His biceps are doing things that Mingyu didn’t know they could do. Hell, he didn’t know Minghao _had_ them in the first place. Who _is_ he? 

“Um…” Jungkook hovers around him, concerned but unsure. “Do you want some water?”

“No, no.” Mingyu looks away and swipes the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, feeling his throat clear up. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.” 

“Okay,” Jungkook says. “You scared me. What happened?”

 _Minghao happened_ , Mingyu wants to say, but runs his hand through his hair and lets out a laugh instead. “Just me being me,” he says. “Whew. I’m tired. Let’s sit down.” He tries to stop ogling, he really does, but his eyes keep flicking over to Minghao and his stupid arms, still somehow looking amazing under the glare of the ugly white lighting coming from the lanes. 

“You two!” Yugyeom suddenly bellows. “Get over here! We need judges!” 

“What – we were just about to sit down!” Jungkook complains.

“Yugyeom doesn’t trust his own shitty judgement call,” Minghao says, voice light and airy, “so we need extra eyewitnesses.”

Jungkook is making a face of disapproval but he walks over to them anyway. Mingyu follows suit. Immediately, Yugyeom pulls Jungkook by the elbow and pokes him in the chest. 

“You’re on my side, okay? You put those eagle-eyes of yours to good use.”

Jungkook looks as confused as Mingyu feels. “What?”

“That means you’re on mine,” Minghao says. 

Mingyu turns to him, quickly trailing his eyes over the great view of his bare arms. He sighs. They look so firm. “If I must,” he says.

In the end, Yugyeom won, but only by a few points. The rest of their night was spent with no more bets and contests as promptly declared by Jungkook, who wanted a nice, fair, _normal_ game. Mingyu thinks he just wanted to show off his excellent bowling posture. (It admittedly was.) Jungkook came out with top score of the night, followed by Yugyeom, then Minghao, and finally Mingyu, who never admitted to being good at bowling _anyway_ , so _whatever_. 

“I thought you’d be good at bowling,” Minghao tells him during their little break at the food court outside the bowling arena, and Mingyu snorts. Jungkook and Yugyeom are still waiting for their pretzels so right now it’s just the two of them. 

“Well, you thought wrong.” 

“You’ve got the arms.” Minghao takes a swig of water from his bottle, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Mingyu eyes him, heart doing a little flip. “You sayin’ I got nice arms?”

Minghao glances at him, leaning back into his chair. “They’re not bad arms.” 

“Huh.” Mingyu swallows his bite of sandwich with a little difficulty, remembering Wonwoo’s words. _How does he act around you?_ “Thanks, Hao.” 

Minghao rolls his eyes, but there’s a flush on his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

  


  


Calling has become a thing. What started off as a wrong press of a number while drunk turned into a weekly sort of routine that admittedly Mingyu feels kind of awkward about considering he hadn’t meant to start it. But now that it’s been three weeks into it, he finds that he’s really enjoying himself. It’s so much easier than texting, and he gets to hear Minghao’s voice way more often. He feels like a fifteen-year-old in the 90s every time he puts the phone to his ear and answers Minghao with a “Hey”, but it’s not a bad feeling.

“– and then she said, yeah, no, sorry, I don’t think I can see myself dating a guy, but you were really cool, so thanks for showing me a good time.”

“Wow.” Mingyu rests the back of his head against his bed’s headboard. The topic of the moment is the joys and downfalls of Tinder dates. “That’s like so much better than _my_ story, you win.”

“Yesss,” Minghao says, s’s crackling into the speaker. “I didn’t even know we were competing.”

Mingyu sighs, stretching his legs out and slumping even further down his bed. “Everything’s a competition in my world.”

“Don’t you get tired of that?”

Mingyu smiles. “Nope.”

“You sound so proud.”

“I am. It gives me motivation to, like, go out and do things, y’know. What motivates _you_?”

Minghao is silent for a few seconds. “Good question.”

“One that you don’t have an answer to?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I hope you find it –”

“I think it’s you, right now,” Minghao says. Now it’s Mingyu’s turn to fall quiet.

“Wait, sorry, could you repeat that, I think I lost you.”

Minghao lets out a soft laugh. There’s rustling on the other end, like he’s shifting positions. Maybe he’s on his bed, too. Mingyu’s heart is quickening by the second. “What motivates me these days,” he says, “is you.”

Mingyu stutters out laughter, feeling his chest cave in. A melody of harps sounds off in his head. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying you’re my motivator,” Minghao repeats, like _duh_. His voice quiets a little. “Honestly, I’ve been feeling kind of out of it these past couple weeks, but you dragged me out of that slump. I dunno. I just feel a lot better after hanging out with you and talking to you.” 

“Oh.” Mingyu can’t help but laugh again. “Really?” Is he saying that because he appreciates Mingyu as a friend? Or is it something different? Whatever it may be, Mingyu is glad that he’s able to make Minghao feel better just by being with him, and that thought alone is enough to keep his worries at bay. “Sorry,” he quickly says, after a moment’s silence. “Sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, if that’s what you’re – I’m just… I’m happy you said that.”

“I got you,” Minghao says. 

“I’m glad,” Mingyu says, feeling his cheeks warm up. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. And… I hope you continue to feel better.”

“It’s thanks to you,” Minghao says, and he sounds so clear and sincere, and suddenly Mingyu is filled with the overwhelming urge to squeeze himself through the phone line and be by Minghao’s side. An unsaid _I sort of miss you_ , a spark of realisation, rests snug in his throat. 

“You found your answer really quick,” Mingyu says, a soft smile settling on his face as he curls up onto his side. He feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest and onto his bed, red and pink and full. 

“I did,” Minghao says. “I’m kind of a genius.”

“Um, If I didn’t exist, you wouldn’t have gotten the answer in the first place.”

“I know,” Minghao says, and Mingyu’s stomach tumbles. He hadn’t expected Minghao to take this sudden serious turn, and it kind of takes him aback. From the moment he said that Mingyu is his motivation, Mingyu felt the air shift. It made him feel small, cornered, yet light and floaty. And no one’s ever made him feel that way before. 

Minghao says, “Hey Mingyu.”

The world is quiet and sunset blue. Cars whizz by softly. Mingyu is in his bed with his ear pressed against his phone and falling a little bit in love. “Hey Minghao.”

There is a slight pause, an electric thing hanging in the second that Minghao’s silent. “Let’s go see a movie sometime.”


End file.
